We arrived at Chennai Central Station very early with thanks to our professional driver who was wiping sleep from his eyes when we introduced ourselves, (not overly reassuring) yet maintained a full level of consciousness and a high state of alert all the way. Travelling anywhere in India has a certain level of danger, but at 5am its paramount to keep your concentration up. The wildlife seems more active at this time of the day as do the locals due to the cooler temperature. We soon discovered that two passenger buses collided, setting both on fire during the night as we passed the wrecked shells thankful we were only witnesses of the aftermath! Being so early to everything is the philosophy we have adopted, (a highly new and exciting concept for Lana) due to India's massive population and the everyday occurances of unexpected delay. Grabbing some brek feast, we nearly collapsed in fits of laughter in the 'queue' / crowd of people waving money or orders, as a man's head popped through a small hole in a billboard wall curtain at waist height! We stood at a table to eat (standing only restaurant) and begun the mental preparation for the commitment to crossing, almost the length of the Sub-continent, by train!

Finding our seats, we dropped the 40kg once again and made ourselves comfortable in what is to be home for the best part of 2 days. Great training for the Trans-Mongolian Railway! We shared our 1st Class, 4-Berth A/C cabin with two older men who both were bound for Orissa for separate reasons. Jaigpur was from Pakistan and a former Air-Force Pilot and the other whose name I could not spell nor pronounce, let's call him Sanjay, was a chemist. They were both now living in Tamil Nadu. Both men were very interesting and friendly which helped as we all kept each other amused and involved in conversation covering topics like politics, history, oil, poverty, cricket and Idlys with sambar and Rava Masala to name a few. With only two curtains for protection, sitting across the carriage from us were a family; grandmother, her daughter and grandson. The grandmother was unfortunately a spitting image of Jabba the Hut in a bright pink sari, but worse than that, and somewhat unbelievable, was the biggest mole we had ever seen. It protruded at least one inch from left her cheek, and was at least an inch in diameter - like a smooth, brown, hairy squash ball!

The train was awesome. Leather covered fold up bench seats made the bottom bunk, the top was slightly narrower and suspended from the roof by two thick chains. We were promptly provided 2 sheets and a small towel by 'Manchester Boy', wrapped in brown paper and sporting some Hindi and amazingly correct year print along the edges. Real privacy would never actually be a feature of this train, (unless perhaps you are the driver and have a lockable door) as someone is always just the other side of the curtains peeping out of nosiness, curiosity or to try and sell you something out of a sack, bucket, tray or flask. There's little chance of starvation, or peace for that matter during daylight hours, it only comes at around 9 at night. There must have been an entertainment tag team of at least 8 people consistently stalking the central aisle of the train, with their repetitive but tunefully shrill announcements of what they were bringing past to sell - and you had to be quick with an arm out through the curtain to catch them! To name but only a few we had the Nusta duo (mostly active in the mornings), Barney the water boy, Chai boy and Cha boy, Coffee, coffee coffee man and then the more mysterious uniformed ones who would silently breeze in and out clutching a notepad. The cleaners made you lift your feet while they swept, and sprayed potent air freshener into the curtains and bug killer under the beds, oblivious to our gasps and chokes for breathable air!

The scenery was great, very green and beautiful. We saw lots of the Indian countryside, passed through countless villages, incredibly boney cows and goats, and paddy fields in varying states of flooding, proven by children wading through them waist deep. The soils changed quite frequently from deep rich brown to sandy and back to deep red, as we passed plantations of palms, eucalypts, casuarinas, banana's and other's we were unable to identify. The recent monsoonal rains have wreaked havoc, but we didn't witness any of the destruction.As we passed over the Krishna River we learned that the level of the choppy, fast flowing muddy water, should be a lot less than the current 8 feet below the railway bridges which cross its several kilometre wide breadth.

We played a couple of hands of Euca, teaching Sanjay the basics as we went along, to pass the time until bed which could not have come quick enough.

After our travel companions parted ways at a very early 4:30am, we shared the rest of the arduous journey with various hop on-hop off locals. By this point delirium had poked up its ugly head again and we both were now ready to disembark. We were due to arrive in Kolkata at approximately 12:30pm.

Entering the 'Black Hole' - Kolkata Pt 1

Rolling onto one of the many platforms at Kolkata station, we pressed through the crowds pretending to look as though we knew where to go to deter the anticipated unrelenting street touts. Emerging into the yellow sea of cabs out the front of the slightly Victorian style station facade, we waded across the road to the Faile ferry terminal. Our rather ambitious plan to navigate our way across central Kolkata by foot to a Metro station to travel south to our guest house was seemingly easy to negotiate at this point.

Our first impression of Kolkata was permeated by the sense of an indifferent hostility from the local people. Their frowning, mildly angry expressions was a big contrast to the people we had met in Tamil Nadu in the south. No body spoke on the ferry ride over, and filing down the boardwalk on the other side was like passing through the London Underground at rush hour - everyone was only concerned for their own agenda, and stress, anger or just dissatisfaction with their lot, blinkered out the humanity surrounding them.

We headed straight, through busy streets with unexpected high-rise colonial buildings, now used as offices, apartments, storage facilities above the businesses below, but all discoloured with years of pollution and weathering, and obvious neglect. Despite the welcoming shade provided by the tall tatty structures on each side of the street, it gave a claustrophobic edge to the ground-level environment. The sidewalks were lined with fruit sellers and small street kitchens serving food which smelt and looked awesome, and also different from the south, and somewhat surprisingly cleaner than Chennai. Hungry and becoming increasingly hot navigating our way between the standing diners and other sidewalk traffic and obstacles; we made slow progress towards the Metro station. We paused to ask for directions from several people, whose English wasn't that great but still far better than any of the two or so Hindi words we knew. Maybe we selected a poor cross section of the Kolkata population to request help from as if we weren't blatantly fobbed off, or just had a back turned to us we had a one/two word reply barked in our general direction. Finally, sweating, slightly agitated and gasping for a drink we reached the MG station entrance. We were promptly told by one of the security officials posted at the entrance that our bags were too big to be permitted onto the Metro...and we would have to take a cab. We bit the bullet and paid an extortionate price for 5 minutes in a car, and watched the chaotic goings on occurring in the streets around us as we chugged through the congested roads.

Thankfully the room at the Sunflower turned out to be superb, cheaper than the Raj Res, and the interior furniture, fittings and decor appeared to be brand new! The elderly lift operator come contortionist, insistently forced his way into an already crowded antique elevator with us both and our person-sized packs, determined that only he would have the pleasure of pulling up the little lever at the side. After watching the painfully slow process of the hotel owner copying our passport and visa details in his A1 sized guest book, and completing numerous other pieces of paperwork, we checked in and raced to the shower to get rid of the grimy layers of train travel, Kolkata and sweat.

Braving the unpredictable and notoriously dangerous Kolkata traffic, feeding was the number one priority. Fortunately finding the nearby backpacker hotel drag in the first 5 minutes on foot, we walked through to the cluttered market and super seedy Sudder Street area. A heightened sense of paranoia about pickpockets and a noticeable harder sales edge to the hawkers and market stallies (where 'no' is not in the vocabulary), we drifted past a cinema. Excited at the prospect of some evening entertainment we went inside to see what was on offer...The man on the counter promptly disappeared when we approached, and after a few minutes we called to him and he returned and offered us his minimal attention, seemingly sneering when we refused the more expensive circle seats. Perhaps trying to put us off he advised us that the one movie, a dodgy Indian comedy called Do Knot Disturb, had no subtitles!

We fought our way through the markets, quickly tiring of the constant nagging of the stall holders and hawkers in between attempting to coax us into their shops. At one point Adam bee lined for an air-conditioned department store to momentarily escape the vicious overbearing street dwellers that were constantly testing his patience. Not something I would advise anyone to do!

After both of us cooled down somewhat, a lighthearted bollywood/drama in an air-con cinema presented itself as a relaxing alternative to the sudden hectic chaos that Kolkata had just dished out, and purposely sought out the previous ticketing vendor to purchase two sub-standard seats for "Do Knot Disturb". This proved to be a first class choice by "Team Chico" as we thoroughly enjoyed the hilarious show and its old fashioned halfway interval, complete with ice cream sales. A few locals were amazed that we not only enjoyed the Matinee, but understood the plot fully considering that around 99% what spoken in Hindi! Walking out in a more positive mood than before we were ready to face the masses again and head home for an early night.

Well rested, we rose fresh in the morning for a big breakfast from the Bangladesh restaurant and a day off sightseeing with an optimistic approach giving this grimy, impressionably unfriendly city a second chance. Agreeing not to add to this already over congested and over polluted "Black Hole" we opted to cover the kilometres by foot. The first cab off the rank was to be Fort William. Upon arrival we were informed that no-one other than government officials and military personnel were permitted on the premises. Referring also to an unreliable map printed in "Lousy Planet" we became lost for around 1 hour and eventually found our bearings by the Queen Victoria Memorial Landmark (the 2nd cab off the rank). This Kolkata monument is an absolute icon and listed as a cross between the Taj Mahal and the White House and rightly so too. Inside is apparently supposed to house a very impressive gallery/museum from the Victorian era, but due to an over inflation of prices for foreigners bordering on blatant racism, we opted to enjoy the perimeter gardens only, purely on principle! (10INR Citizens/150INR Foreigners)

The gardens themselves were impressive and very beautiful. The winding canals passing through the northern section were symmetrically lined with perfectly groomed bright green hedging. There were pockets of flower beds everywhere which exploded with huge varieties of colour giving off pleasant aromas, which would be a rare thing in any Indian city!The southern end of the gardens seemed to be the attraction for the more boldly affectionate Indians with its more secluded areas for the adventurous to explore. In the centre is a rectangular pond which houses a few different varieties of water birds and the occasional chipmunk can be seen scurrying around the trees and fences. The reflection of the monument caught in the still water is a stunning feature of the grounds. In the mid-afternoon light it catches the light and reverses the original image picture perfect!

After reveling in our new-found celebrity status, having been mobbed to pose for photographs and literally sign some autographs by a group of TA cadet's on a visit to the monument, we were absconded by a university 'journalist'. We stood and chatted to him for a while, but finally managed to shrug him off after he followed us out into the street. Lana's idea to cross the new Howrah suspension bridge was short-lived as it turned into a long, hot and uncomfortable walk whilst being confronted by a medley of freeway overpasses at a roadway junction not suitable for pedestrians. We really were on edge at this point. Discomforted by the large amount of young children living under this bare litter strewn junction, we turned back and decided to follow the tramline along and around the dormant racecourse. Again we backtracked and passed the Victoria Monument, and continued on towards the action. Stopping at a street stall whose chef was frying up egg rolls, we picked up a couple of greasy but tasty, paper wrapped portions for lunch. Lana not taking too well to mild dehydration in the midday heat spotted an Air Con market. This we discovered is where you come if you want to shop in peace, spread over 3 windowless, chilled stories of shop floor you could get allsorts here! We settled for a small jar of Indian counterfeit Tiger Balm...we'll have to see how it fairs along the Base Camp trail!

The rest of the day, once we finally resigned ourselves to being able to locate the metro, consisted of a great deal of walking (highly conscious of what our ideal training regime for Mera Peak should be at this stage) and absorbing the atmosphere of Kolkata. Within the scope of trying to retain our bearings we wandered amongst the backstreets and places probably deemed unsuitable for tourists' eyes. We wanted the real Kolkata and the real people and I believe we found that in spite of feeling out of place, we were not intrusive. Through the main streets men were having haircuts on the sidewalks and others wearing only shorts washed in concrete tanks attached to constantly running pipe outlets, which overflowed into the gutters and drained away, from the commuting suits, and new shiny silver cars drawing up onto the pavements outside of clean glass fronted Sari tailors.

We found ourselves outside of Mother Theresa's mission, evidenced only by a handful of women in powder blue and white habits, stepping out into the street in front of us. A heated disagreement had broken out in the road, a group of men crowded in on a shouting man dressed head to toe in white, who judging by the marks on his slacks had been in a traffic accident. We paused briefly to watch the commotion, more for the intrigue in the number of people, obviously not even involved in the incident, who were eager onlookers.

As dusk hit we finally managed to work out where we were, and headed towards the markets for some refreshments. Turning a corner however there was a pub. We could almost hear the angels singing! We scurried in to the refrigerated interior took a seat and ordered two cold Kingfishers...tea-total after hot days like this? Pah! You can take the Aussies out of Australia but you can't take the Aussie out of an Aussie!

Excited for Nepal the following day, we were up early to make sure we were at the airport in plenty of time, bracing ourselves for the chaos we met a Kiwi guy named Tom who much to his disappointment was heading back to Sydney via Bangkok and all decided to car pull. He gave us some pointers on Darjeeling and Varanasi then we shook hands and parted ways. Kolkata International terminal is perhaps the strangest and most dull experience at an airport we've ever encountered. With roughly 2 flights scheduled an hour the place was pretty dead. We were persuaded to wrap Adams bag in plastic and we were marched back to the baggage security check for a second time to have an additional strap added to our packs as the Nepalese are renowned thieves according to Indian Air. We were first at every counter and still had to wait. Once we checked our bags, we couldn't pass through Immigration till they were ready. We scraped together our remaining rupees for large samosas from the one man show food booth and sat in the pre-departure departure area, then went through another security check to the lounge area before the gate.

Not feeling the love for Kolkata we happily boarded the plane...finally after so many years of dreaming, we were going to Nepal!

Quiet reflection during the flight, and glued to the window as Himalayan Mountains peered through the cloud in the distance, as did Mount Everest much to our excitement. We came to a Slipknot style verdict: Kolkata = s***.